DISCLAIMER: I do not own Game of Thrones or A Song of Ice and Fire. All intellectual rights belong to HBO and George R.R. Martin. I only own my OCs.

PART ONE

A bear amongst wolves

Dark as a Winter's night, she thought grimly as she heard birds chipper and distant conversations; yet her eyes met nothing but emptiness before her, for she was blindfolded.

The piece of cloth was rather thick, some kind of harsh leather that one would use to put underneath many layers of armor. It was exactly the kind of piece any captor would use to render their captives without sight; it was always at hand and impossible to see through.

Odette heard something heavy being pushed towards her, then three unsure stomps on the dirt. Someone chuckled rather loudly, but not loud enough for her to miss the faint sound of wood hitting metal.

Somewhere to her right, a male voice chuckled: "No peeking, Robb!"

She could feel him as he rounded her as a predator did to his helpless prey. He tried —and failed miserably— to keep his steps mute, but he was too nervous to remember to focus on balancing his weight and putting his toes first like she'd told him so many times.

When she heard him shuffle behind her, she guessed he was going for a surprise attack, or perhaps he was trying to confuse her senses, make her wave her sword at the misty air before her.

He stomped a little harder one time, deliberately, and she almost smiled as she turned towards the sound a little quicker that she usually would. She knew the Wolf wanted to play her, so she'd let him have his fun.

The Wolf then carried sneaking behind her back, but she couldn't help but chuckle at the empty space before her. "What's the matter, little wolf?" She asked with a grin on face, as if she could see his eyes through the blindfold, even if she knew him to be standing three of large four steps behind her. "Are we planning on taking a swing anytime before the winter comes?"

He felt a little braver then, she was certain, because she heard the swing of his wooden sword cutting through the air behind her almost immediately after she finished talking.

Turning around quickly, she curved her wrist up high so the two swords met mid air, hers blocking his mere inches above her head. He'd taken a jump forward to take the swing, but his balance was off. She heard his heavy boots on the ground before her on places too apart, giving her a wide space to kick hard, which she did.

Her boot aimed high, pushing the sole against his belt, and he was pushed two steps back. Keeping a hand behind her back, she listened for his next move, focusing on keeping her own heartbeat slow enough so it wasn't ringing in her ears.

He, on the other hand, was panting loudly, so she could sense where his face was. He was closer than she'd anticipated, given that she could feel his hot breaths hitting her face. It was indeed getting colder outside with each passing day.

Surely, the took a swing, which he blocked with ease, pushing her weapon outwards. Her grip on the wooden stick was tight enough, so it didn't fly off her hand. "Nice one." She complimented, but her praise was only met with silence from his part. "Not much of a talker now, are you, little wolf? Why is that?" She took the offensive now, swinging and striking rapidly at his body. Much to her delight, every swing was met with well placed blocks from his part. "Oh, I see, you think that if you remain silent I won't know where you are, do you?" She proved him wrong by striking the back of his front leg —the one closer to her, where his weight mostly rested as he went to attack her middle, and sending him to the ground.

"There's a bleeding leg," she announced, moving to block a swing from his sword that was aimed at her tight. She took note to remind him not to let his weapon touch anything that could betray its position, just as the heavy fabric of his coat did a second earlier. She ran the edge of her stick closer to the handle of his and circled it, making his wrist fickler and then pushed it outwards, sending the stick flying. "there's your sword," She stepped closer to his body, putting one leg on each side of it and pressing her feet to his arm, which was helplessly scouting the dirt for his weapon. She swung her stick in the air dramatically before bringing it to the dirt close to his face, forcing a gasp of air from his chest. "And there's your head."

She didn't even manage to smile before he moved one of his legs to kick hers, sending her to the ground with a graceless thud. The air left her insides as she chuckled bitterly. "Oh, you nasty little cheat…"

Odette heard him laugh somewhere close as he stood up from the dirt. She extended her arm and a hand found her elbow, lifting her off the dirt. "We agreed everything was fair. You insisted on it, if I remember correctly, because during real wars.."

"Aye, during real battles everything is fair." Odette finished for him with a resigned sigh. She took her blindfold off and squinted at the sight of the silver sun of the North, blinking a few times so her eyes wouldn't tear up so much. "But in real battles, your enemies won't kick you after you separate their heads from their shoulders."

After her vision cleared, she saw the wolf before her, dusting off his clothes with a smirk on his handsome face, his own blindfold hanging from his neck. Robb Stark had his mother's auburn hair and beautiful blue eyes, which he shared with all but two of his siblings. He had turned sixteen years old not long ago, and so had his half-brother Jon. "Who knows? You might be fighting White Walkers." By her side, his brother, usually full of grim, thoughtful expression, smiled at her. He was the one who helped her up.

She rolled her eyes at Jon Snow, the young lad with the dark eyes and unruly raven hair, and threw her stick to the ground, a simple mock of a real sword made of cheap wood for them to practice with without hurting themselves. Lord Eddard Stark had insisted on them after a rather messy accident when they sparred with real swords they'd borrowed —and she would go to the grave swearing it was just a loan— from the armory. Lady Catelyn, Lord Eddard's wife, was not happy to find out her eldest son Robb was almost beheaded during child's play. Odette didn't dare to tell the angry She-Wolf that it was his idea to begin with. Messing with Lady Catelyn wasn't something even someone was reckless as Odette would dare do, specially when it concerned the Lady's children.

Odette eyed Robb, her sparring companion, with mockery. "Well, if all White Walkers fought like you, we would not have needed much of a Wall to begin with. I believe a small barricade would have sufficed, do you not agree?" She asked with false seriousness, enjoying his offended look.

"Not even The Wall and a thousand men could hold me if it came between me and my destiny." He said with an air of self-sufficiency. Beside her, Jon coughed to cover a laugh.

The girl clicked her tongue, running her hands through the back of her pants to wipe the dirt off them. "Now, what did we just learn? Don't you go running your mouth like that in front of me again, you know how much I enjoy to prove you wrong."

"What did he say?" The little Brandon Stark asked enthusiastically as he joined them, eager to learn what his two elder brothers and Odette Mormont were laughing about.

Odette turned to the younger Stark with a sly smile on her lips. "Doesn't matter now. I won, and proved him wrong."

Robb scoffed. "You did not win, you ended up with your arse on the ground."

"Don't be a sore loser, it is not becoming of a boy of your status. "

"I am a man!" He was about to discuss further, but decided against it. Odette Mormont never backed from an argument until she had the final word, and she had defended her honor quite well in the last hour. She was eighteen, soon to become nineteen, not much older than Jon Snow and himself, but a good head shorter in both height and temper. Robb also considered her quite a beauty; with her dark eyes and long, deep brown hair, she didn't stand out in a crowd as much as his young sister Sansa would do, with her hair like blazing fire, but Odette had a feisty personality unlike most of the bland, quiet ladies of the North. She also loved to run her mouth, a lot. Robb supposed it was something she took from her Southern mother. Overall, she wasn't ugly to look at, but he'd grown too accustomed with her company over the last years to see her as anything but a loyal friend and a remarkable fighter; better than most of the soldiers he'd sparred with.

And he did notice the shy glances his half-brother Jon Snow reserved for her whenever she wasn't looking. But he couldn't blame him from his staring. A girl like her was hard to miss.

Sometimes Robb felt a sting of jealousy at how much him Jon, Bran and Arya adored the young ward, but it passed when he remembered he felt the same. Odette didn't have much of a family of her own —not alive, not in Winterfell any longer—, and she'd grown so close to the Stark's that they mostly thought of her as family. At least, about half of them did.

"What are you looking at?" Odette asked him in her usual sneer. He chuckled, realizing he'd been staring and she hated when people did that, which was a common occurrence given that she was a girl sparring with boys, wearing pants instead of dresses, and carrying around sharp objects that were not needles for stitch work.

Robb pointed at his cheek. "You got something…"

She went to angrily wipe her own face with the sleeve of her camisole. "Just admit it already, the day you beat me in fair fight will be the day our dearest Bran hits the bullseye."

He could only laugh in response, but little Bran whined: "It's not funny! No one bothers to teach me."

Robb walked towards his little brother and patted his shoulder. "I will teach you," he grabbed his neck and leaned closer to his ear. "And she's going to eat her words."

She walked past a beaten up dummy and smiled at little Rickon Stark, who'd been watching the sparring from his own high seat over a broken saddle, his short legs swinging in the air happily. "What do you say, boy? Who won the fight?"

He pointed his wooden sword at his elder brother. "He did!"

Odette rolled her eyes and hit him softly in the leg. "Traitor." She leaned against Rickon's seat and watched as Bran attempted to shoot a straight arrow, missing the target by a great distance. And they continued to miss, despite Robb and Jon's many attempts at showing him how to keep his arm still. Odette watched as the young boy became increasingly frustrated with himself, and she pitied him just a bit. She didn't mean to be cruel when she said he wouldn't hit the bullseye, but Brandon Stark wasn't half as skilled with his hands as he was with his feet. He couldn't shoot a good arrow to save his life, but he could climb like no other.

After a while, Jon went and patted Bran's shoulder and mustered something in his ear. At that, Bran turned around and looked up, Odette's eyes followed. She saw Lord Eddard Stark, with his short beard and long brown hair, and his Lady Catelyn, with her big and judging Tully-blue eyes and rusty auburn hair, watching over the training. She pressed her lips together, wondering how long they had been there, studying them in silence.

Brandon drew the string one more time and shot a little too fast, the arrow going straight past the target and disappearing in the wilderness behind the wall. Everyone laughed, little Rickon moved his hand to his stomach and Odette had to yield to avoid being hit in the head with his toy sword.

"And which one of you was a marksman at age ten?" Eddard Stark's voice roared above their chuckles, silencing them. Odette's hand itched to be raised up, to remind them that she was a marksman just a year after she'd shot her first arrow, but the stopped herself. Girls at Bear Island were raised different than those of Winterfell, she learned that on her first years at the Great Keep. Not that she'd followed any of those rules ever since. "Keep practicing, Bran. Go on."

The little boy seemed to appreciate the vow of confidence and turned to draw again, but he was visibly nervous. Jon leaned in. "Don't think too much, Bran."

"Relax your bow arm." Robb advised.

He pointed, and Odette kept her eyes on the target.

An arrow flew straight to the bullseye, and she almost gasped in surprise. Odette whipped her head to see young Arya Stark behind the fence, holding a bow of her own and looking very pleased with herself. She curtsied at Bran and ran away when the boy chased after her, his bow and arrow long forgotten.

Odette followed the two children with her eyes until they disappeared behind the stables.

"That was a close one."

"Right." She grabbed Rickon from under his arms and put him in the ground. "Help us clean up the mess."

Rickon seemed excited as he ran off to find the arrows. Odette went to grab Bran's bow across the field. "How did she get good?" Robb asked from behind her.

Jon passed by Odette's side with a handful of arrows of his own. "How do you think?"

Odette fought a triumphant smile as she turns to put away the bow, finding Robb looking at her with a raised eyebrow, his bright blue eyes gleaming with amusement. She finally laughed, "What? Us ladies 'ought to help each other."

Odette Mormont hated executions. Death in battle she understood, you fought for your cause —no matter how stupid it was— and you died, or killed, for it. Executions she deemed unfair. Laws were tricky, more often than not. They painted the world in white and black, no tolerance for shades of grey. She always thought how impossible it seemed to sentence a man to lose his head by following rules that were written by stuck up old men hundreds of years ago in dusty books that were rotting away in corners of libraries no one ever visited. She saw them as an excuse to inject fear in the hearts of their followers. And there she was, attending another sentence, standing by the sidelines as a scrawny young boy with dirty blonde hair and frostbite on his bony face was escorted by two armed guards towards Lord Stark.

She doubted the boy even needed escorts, he didn't seem to pay much attention to them anyway. He was busy muttering something under his breath. Something about White Walkers. He met Lord Stark in the eye and spoke his truth. Saying he knew he broke his oath, but he saw the White Walkers. He begged him to tell his family he was not a coward, and that he was sorry.

Odette sighed as Eddard drew an impotent sword, Ice, from a scabbard held by Theon Greyjoy, his other ward. He swore his service to the King, and sentenced the boy to die. He swung the sword not a minute later, and the blonde head was separated from the body. Odette couldn't help but look away at the hills, ignoring the blood that bathed the Valyrian steel blade.

When Lord Stark walked away to mount his horse, everyone else took the cue to do the same. She walked back to her horse and jumped on the saddle without much thought. "I still don't understand it." Theon Greyjoy said, he was also on his horse. "How can such a good little fighter such as yourself be upset by the sight of blood?"

She gripped the reins tighter, turning the horse's head towards the main road, but waiting for Eddard to take the lead. He was still talking to Bran. "The sight of blood does not upset me."

Theon laughed. "Aye,'right, don't need to pretend to be so strong all the time, it is only a woman's nature to despise violence."

"Keep talking that way and I will show you violence." She snarled, her eyebrows furrowed. He put his hands up in mocking surrender. Odette breathed shakily, she knew she needed to control her outbursts. She was often told that her lack of control would be her undoing one day, but she didn't know if Theon Greyjoy was the right person to confide her truth in. Still, he deserved as much. If there was one person in Winterfell who could at least sympathize with her feelings, it would be him. "The King's Justice, a harsh sentence for something as simple as being afraid of monsters."

"The boy took an oath, he broke it. He knew the consequences."

"He saw monsters and ran away, he was scared. He deserved a fair trial, at least." She argued.

They witnessed as Eddard took his horse to the main road back to the Keep and they followed. "And claim what? That he deserved to keep his life because he says he saw White Walkers? I would pay good gold to see that trial."

"Desperate men do crazy things." She muttered. They rode in silence for a minute before she decided to continue. "It would've been the fate of my father, had he stayed." Theon seemed confused for a moment, and she explained. "The King's Justice, I mean. And if my grandfather ever wanted to leave the Night's Watch, it would be his as well."

"If I remember correctly, your father traded slaves. That's a crime punishable by death."

"Poachers, and it was only once. But I'm not justifying his actions, all I'm saying is that there is no middle point. You either obey all the laws, no matter how harsh or stupid, or off goes your head."

Theon raised his eyebrows as they galloped through the woods, the bumpy road making them jump in their saddles. "You suggest we stop enforcing the laws? There would be mayhem."

Odette scoffed. "No, you…" She seemed to try to find the right words. She knew what she meant to say, but it sounded as if she simply hated following orders. "I read this somewhere, I don't remember where… When tyranny becomes law, rebellion becomes duty, or something like that."

"Rebelling against laws, eh?" The other ward laughed bitterly. "Look where that's got us." She opened her mouth, but closed it again. She didn't feel like discussing about failed rebellion with a Greyjoy, of all people.

A ray of sun brought tears to her eyes, and she blinked them away. She suddenly felt her clothes very heavy, her braided hair in knots all the way down her chest. Surely the Septa would scowl at her untidy appearance as soon as she laid eyes on her, and Sansa would roll her pretty blue eyes in distaste. The little Lady had never been too fond of Odette's… boyish antics. Odette thought the red-headed beauty needed to loosen up and live a little, or else she was prone to get early wrinkles, like her dearest mother.

Her horse came to a sudden halt when it couldn't go any further, the small party had stopped shy from the bridge at the sight of a stag's corpse. "Is that the same bloody beast I've been tracking for the past month?" She asked through clenched teeth, giving her black mare a kick so she came closer to the dead animal, but her question was answered as soon as she saw the arrow buried in the animal's side, as it had black feathers painted with rogue.

She jumped off her seat and wrinkled her nose when the putrid smell hit her, but she marched towards the body to retrieve her arrow anyway, mumbling something about wasting time under her breath, amongst other colorful curses.

Lord Stark had walked closer to the animal as well, noticing its belly ripped open, the insides spilled on the road and being feasted on by maggots. Jon Snow and the Greyjoy ward stopped by both his sides. "Mountain lion?" The ward asked.

"There are no mountain lions in these woods." Lord Stark muttered before leaving the main road to follow a trail of blood, his children and the rest of his men following close behind, swords drawn out to fight off the beast that killed the stag, if it came down to it. Odette sighed at the maimed body once again, frustrated that she'd wasted all those days following its trail on foot. Smart animal it had been, she had to give it that. Her horse was too loud and rather smelly for her to approach inconspicuously, so she'd done her best not to follow it with the wind against her, hoping for a clean shot of its neck. Unfortunately, the beast had heard her, running off to safety amongst the trees.

She followed the men, dragging her steps angrily; Jon hushed her when she reached his side, still mumbling in anger. "Oh, please, did you see the state of that animal? It's been dead for hours, whatever killed it must be long gone by now."

But it wasn't.

Right down the small hill that led to the creek, between mushy rocks and prominent roots, was the body of the biggest wolf she'd ever seen. Her eyes opened so big she believed they might come out of their sockets. An antler was pierced through the animal's throat, through and through. A small litter of puppies whimpering by its side.

"It's a freak." Theon Greyjoy announced.

"You're a freak," Odette pointed out, pushing him to get closer to the puppies. "These are direwolves."

The little animals cried softly, and Odette couldn't help but smile tiredly. She kneeled by the big wolf's side and took off her leather gloves, pocketing them inside her cloak. With bare hands, she allowed the one closest to her to get a scent of her fingers before she pet it, its thick grey fur being one of the softest things she'd ever touched.

Lord Stark grabbed the antler and pulled it. "Tough old beast."

"I was bested by a direwolf…" She murmured loudly, as if contemplating the taste of the defeat in her mouth.

Jon raised an eyebrow at her. "Getting a bit rusty, are we?"

She squinted her eyes at him, and then grabbed a pup by its belly, slowly, bringing it to her chest and petting it gently until it cried no longer. "Somehow I'm not angry." She said happily. The little pup must have agreed, because it licked her hand.

Robb, on the other hand, remained stern. "There are no direwolves south of the Wall."

"Now there are five," Jon declared, grabbing another one and putting it in Bran's arms. "You want to hold it?"

Bran looked at his brother with unsure eyes, but grabbed the pup anyway. "Where will they go? Their mother's dead."

"They don't belong here."

Lord Stark seemed to agree. "Better a quick death. They won't last without their mother."

Odette held the pup tighter when Theon was eager to pull his blade and go to grab it. "Right, give it here."

Little Bran cried out when Theon took the pup from his hands, and Robb ordered him to put away his blade. As Bran begged his father to change his mind, Odette began to give slow steps back up the hill, hoping that they would forget she was even there to begin with. When her pup whimpered, she winced as Lord Stark met her guilty expression with his own stern, grey eyes. "I'm sorry." He said.

Surely Odette hoped he had a better argument than that, if he wanted her to give up the pup to be sacrificed, but she couldn't just run off to the castle and hide it in her rooms forever. Although, she could try.

Luckily Jon Snow was better at political discussions than she was; the boy argued that the five pups were meant for the five Stark children, given that they were the sigil of their House. After meeting Jon's pleading brown eyes, even the Lord of Winterfell had to yield, ordering them to look after the pups, feeding them and caring for them instead.

Satisfied, Jon began passing the rest of the wolves, giving one to Robb, one to Bran, and, when he wanted to give one to Theon Greyjoy, Odette stopped him. "No way," she deadpanned, grabbing the wolf by its collar and handing it to Robb instead. "Take this one to Rickon, I'll take these two to the girls."

They walked away, Theon surely muttering what a bitch she was to a chuckling Robb. Little Bran, who trailed behind with Odette and Jon, asked: "What about you?"

Jon gave him a sad smile. "I'm not a Stark," he said, pushing him forward softly. "Get on."

Odette waited until the boy was a few steps ahead of them before she mumbled: "You're terribly hard on yourself, and that's something, coming from me."

"I just say it like it is."

"Still, from one bastard to another," she pushed his shoulder gently. Jon always noted she said the word 'bastard' as if she thought it was a joke, rather than an insult. "Cut yourself some slack, you look way prettier when you smile." His cheeks turned dark pink, and he fought a smile that still showed two handsome dimples on his cheeks. "There he is, the prettiest bastard in the entire North."

Odette laughed, making her way up the hill with care. If she fell with the pups in her arms, the girls would never forgive her for delivering damaged goods. She stopped mid way, realizing Jon Snow was not following behind her, and turned. He was now holding a little snow white pup in his hand, eyes red as blood. "The runt of the litter," she turned her head to see the rest of the party was also staring at the newest pop. "That one's yours, Snow."

"Theon? Be a dear and shut your hole," that brought a real, full smile to Jon's face. "Seems like destiny's trying to tell you something, Snow."

The Great Keep was… well, great indeed, not particularly in size, comparing to other castles in Westeros, but it was still sort of a maze. Her first years, Odette had lost her way and ended in parts of the stone castle she wasn't even sure really existed, or if they were all part of her imagination. Now, six years after her arrival, she knew it like the back of her hand. She also was good at finding Starks, wherever they were, and that's how she found Arya and Sansa; finishing their last lesson of the day with Septa Mondane. Sansa was playing the harp with elegant fingers, producing a beautiful melody, while Arya pulled the strings as if she wanted to rip them and be done with it.

She pushed the door and it creaked, drawing the attention of three ladies. "My dear, look at yourself." Septa Mondane scolded, taking in Odette's appearance. She had a vague idea of what she looked like, after a long day of sparing with the Stark lords, chasing down ghost stags, and riding horseback to watch men be decapitated, she suspected she'd seen better days. "You never did take my lessons to heart."

Odette managed to give the old woman a side smile. "They are well archived in here," she knocks her head playfully. "If it comes the day when I need them."

The woman in grey shook her head. "At what do we owe the interruption?"

Odette's face broke into a bright smile. "I have a surprise."

She turned around and grabbed the box she left behind the door, hidden from the girls' curious looks, and turned around, showing the two pups inside. Arya, already by the door, jumped in excitement, grabbing the box and putting it on the ground, allowing the two pups wander off the ground. Septa Mondane grabbed her skirts in bewilderment. "These beasts shouldn't be allowed inside castle walls!"

The young ward rolled her eyes. "By all means, have a word with Lord Stark, he's the one who instructed me to bring them to his children."

And off she went, of course, the old Septa left the room to find either the Lord or Lady of Winterfell, whoever was closest and willing to listen to her complaints. "Did he really?" Odette looked up to see Sansa looking at the pup who was pulling the fabric of her purple dress with interest, her Tully blue eyes full of awe, but her pose stiff as a twig. Odette often felt sorry for the girl, specially when she noticed her lack of sense of adventure. Arya, on the other hand, was already rolling around the dirty floor with her own pup.

The ward nodded. "He did, he commanded that all of the Stark children had one. Mind you, he also said you must train it, feed it, and bathe it yourself. It's a lot of work, caring for someone other than yourself."

At that, Sansa went to her knees at patted the creature gently on its head, smiling. "It's so pretty."

"They're both girls." Sansa and Arya looked at her. "They are, I checked."

Arya, still the curious one, raised hers to see between its legs. "Aye, definitely a girl."

Odette sat on the floor, petting the little animals often, or putting them back on the right direction when they got too close to the open door. Arya gave hers a little blanket to play with, and it was soon pulling one end with as much strength as its little body could muster. "So all of us get one?" Odette nodded, too distracted by the direwolf to care about much else. "Even Jon?" She nodded again.

Sansa scoffed as if she found it funny. "Of course not. Jon is not a Stark, he's a bastard."

"Mind your words. He's still your brother," Odette barked fiercely, but Sansa seemed confused, as if she didn't think what she said was wrong. "You share the same blood, at the very least, he deserves your respect."

"Well, of course you'd defend him," she said as a matter-of-factly, petting her direwolf's fur. "You're both bastards, and you're merely a ward, as much of an outsider as he is. Neither of you would ever really belong here."

To her credit, Sansa's eyes seemed to widen, as if she'd only just realized what just came out of her mouth, but she didn't correct herself. Arya was silent, unsure of what to say. Meanwhile, Odette's mind went back at the beheading of the boy. The faith of those who fled their places, of those who went against orders, those who dared step a foot out of the line. Those who posed a threat to the crown. Rebells. The voice of Lord Stark ordering to kill the pups because they wouldn't last without their mother…

Sansa pressed her lips together, waiting for her outburst. Odette Mormont didn't take kindly when someone called her names, specially not a bastard, but her mother had said many times that bastards are different, that they shouldn't be celebrated. Sansa knew she meant Jon Snow, given how her father treated him, but she didn't imagine Odette Mormont was any different. She expected cursing, a series blasphemies, or worse, but the girl simply stared at the distance, and absentmindedly touched her hair. Sansa suddenly found her silence much more scarier. Her eyes did always make her feel uneasy, as they were so dark they reminded her of those of a raven. Under the sunlight that crept through the window behind Sansa, she noticed for the first time that they were not black, but something like deep brown and golden. For a moment she thought that, if she looked very close, she could see flames dancing in there…

The Septa entered the room once again, out of breath. "Oh, girls! We must begin prepping you immediately!"

Odette was out of her trance in a heartbeat. "What's the matter?" She asked with worry.

The greying woman bowed her head solemnly, suddenly recovering her composure. "Well, if you must know, a raven just came from King's Landing. The King, his family, and their men are all marching North."

Both Arya and Odette jumped when Sansa squealed in a very unladylike manner, all giggles and laughter, asking Septa Mondane to help her fetch the best fabrics, since she would obviously be needing new dresses to present herself before the prince. The two of them left the room in a whoosh, Sansa's new pup following their ankles close behind.

The two remaining girls, and pup, seemed to deflate. Arya's long face already full of boredom, knowing she'll surely have to endure even more strict lessons on manners. Odette simply shook her head and stood up, dusting the back of her pants. "Well, you heard her, we must begin prepping."

Arya whined. "Oh, not you too."

"Oh yes, me too. First off, I'll need plenty more arrows."

At the mention of weapons, Arya stood up fast. "Arrows? What for?"

Odette smiled at her enthusiasm. Sometimes she worried she had influenced the youngest Lady of Winterfell a little too much. "Well," she crossed her arms over her front in the best impression of the stern Septa Mondane she could muster. "If you must know, putting arrows through things is a great way for a lady to blow off steam," she ended her charade with a chuckle. "Gods know how long it will be since we get back our peace and quiet."

"Can I help?" Arya asked eagerly.

She knew Arya had different duties than her, being a Lady of Winterfell in the making, but the girl was already a lost cause. Besides, she couldn't deny her a thing if she'd tried. "I don't see why not," She opened the door wide enough for Arya and her pup to march before her. "Let us show these poor, helpless beasts what we Northerners are made of."